30 Day Challenge: DAY ??? A-Two-For-One Post

I've skipped some days, it seems. Hockey has taken over my life, as it does every winter. I don't mind so much, but will now cram two posts into one:


1. Do you have any tattoos and do they have special meaning?

Yes. I have one, on my lower back. It's a small, ancient Eyptian symbol meaning, "Freedom" something I valued highly in my 20s. I have never regretted getting it, only wish for more. Strangely, I do not have a photo of it. Must right that soon.

I'd like one to represent my sons, who are my most favourite people in the world. This is one I've been mulling over. It's a Celtic symbol for motherhood:

2. A book I love, a book I didn't.

One of my most favourite books ever is called "One Child" by Torey Hayden. I read it first when I was about 12, again as I entered my 20s and have read a half dozen times since. Torey, a teacher, tells the true story of a little girl who came into her Special Education class during the 1970s. Sheila, was wild and broken, but throughout their time together, the two formed an intense bond and ultimately, Torey's dedication and love for Sheila, transformed them both.

I now work as an EA, working with students with special needs. Entire passages of the book, are especially poignant to me now and come to my mind in full paragraphs. I wonder, sometimes, at the seeds planted, all those years ago.


One of my least favourite books is "The Shack" - a story about a man called "Mack" who loses a child, meets God, finds peace and redemption. The book was written, I suppose, to be uplifting and spiritual but  I was left feeling manipulated and depressed. I forced myself to finish it, but immediately wished that I hadn't.

Life With Molly the Dog

Molly the Dog, ours since Christmas 2013, will be going home today.

Mostly, I am happy for her - and for us. Her new home is a horse farm, where she often goes to play. My friend, Raphael already loves her and she, him. She will be happy and free and beloved: knowing that makes this ache in my heart not as painful as it might be.

Today, I offer some snippets of life with Molly the Dog, as we knew it, culled from my Facebook page:

 

 

It's a good thing I got paid today because Molly the Dog just ate my LAST pair of sandals. I got them last pay day. Since that time, she has devoured my old sandals, a pair of flip-flops and my slippers.

It's no use complaining to Mark because he has told me a dozen times not to leave my shoes all over the place and I have cheerfully agreed and them promptly forgotten.

I hate when he's right.

 

 

 

So, if you were Molly the Dog and managed to snag one of those white things that covers the screws in the base of toilet and you raced downstairs despite your person hollering at you to "Sit, Molly!"...where would you hide it?

 

 

I cracked the back door open to let Molly the Dog outside. She sniffed the air, looked up at me as if to say, "Are you KIDDING me?" and then turned and swished her way back upstairs. I'm pretty sure I heard her "Hmph!" as she settled down.

I DO wish she'd learn to communicate her feelings more clearly...

 

 

Molly the Dog just stalked, killed and ate the BIGGEST house centipede I have ever seen.

Molly the Dog is my new hero and is hereby forgiven for every single status update containing curse words that I've written since bringing her home.

 

 

 

 

 

Molly the Dog did not get to the dog park today. To demonstrate her displeasure, she ate Mark's ball cap, one shoe, a tiny birchwood canoe off my dresser.

Just now, she decimated a roll of paper towel and when I looked over and asked, "What have you DONE?" she farted.

Molly the Dog is a pre-teen boy in a dog's body.

 

During Parent-Teacher interviews, I left a lasagna cooling on the stove.

While we were gone, Molly the Dog ate it. Well, most of it. The rest, she dragged across the kitchen floor, the dining room and the family room.

For dessert, she ate my phone.

Molly the Dog is now in the newly-resurrected crate.

Molly the Dog is grounded.

 

 

 

 

Molly the Dog during a rare, calm moment.
 

Dear Molly the Dog,

I am so mad at you right now, I can't even look at you. Partially, this is my doing for not following through on the "Come!" portion of your TWO rounds of obedience training. I was lulled into complacency, it seems, when vigilance was needed. There talk of electrifying the fence, my girl. And that chain that so terrifies you? Get used to it, until I can figure out how to keep being your owner without losing my mind.
And therein, lies the rub: it goes against your nature to be chained and tied and boxed in. It goes against my heart to be the one who chain and binds you when the beautiful dog that you are only longs to run freely.
I cannot decide if keeping you is selfish, or if offering you a different home where you can roam and run would be...

St. Patrick's Day 2015

Sometimes love means letting go.

 

Steady as you go, Molly the Dog.

 

Remember love.

 

 

 

 

 

For Sara

Several years ago, a group of strangers gathered at another stranger's house, bearing gifts of wine, cake and friendship. Then, we called ourselves the Twitter Ladies as we'd "met" on Twitter - all of us, save one, transplants to the Friendly City in which we live.

That first evening was hilarious - no sooner had we kicked off our shoes at the door, we were kicking off our nerves and our fears and our sense of weird about being in a stranger's home with women from the internet.

We swiftly assigned nicknames and monikers with the ease of new friends aiming to become long-term ones (mostly this was to differentiate between the Jens, who became Baker Jen, Nurse Jen and Preacher Jen, respectively) Our numbers have fluctuated over the years and we are now the Quinte Women's Respite Commission, which makes me giggle even typing it. We are each other's respite, for sure.

Sara was the youngest of us, then and remains the youngest of us now. She is impossibly beautiful and gentle-voiced. She chooses her words with absolute care and moves without any superfluous gestures whatsoever. She is a writer, a teacher, a community activist, a traveller, a dreamer.

Sara, Kyle and the aptly-named Jasper the Dog

She is my friend.

And she is also leaving.

Sara and her travelling-partner-for-life,  Kyle are both gypsies at heart. At month's end, they are heading to Alberta, having gamely spent their first year as a couple here in Ontario. Those of us who love her (and him) wish them nothing but oodles of luck as they embark on this very exciting adventure. But....we will miss her. I am the Storyteller of the group and of course, I have some things to tell her:


1. I am proud of you, my friend. This is a big deal, moving away from all that is familiar and all those who are dear. Though I know your heart has longed to return to the province of your childhood, I know too, how hard it is to leave behind the woman you've grown into here, in the pretty city by the Bay. I know that it has been a privilege to watch her. Now, I'll just have to do so through my computer.

2. Pictures. Take lots of 'em. Document the awesome views and the mundane moments...but not so much that you forget to live in them, either. Share them, love. With those who've made a similar journey and who have sepia-washed memories of their own, and with those still dreaming of becoming someone more, in a different place.

3. Miss us. Miss the loud and the messy of our lives, spilled out onto every table we've gathered around. Miss the laughter and the bawdy humour of women who maybe freak you out a little, but who adore you and see in you, our younger selves. Miss the magic of belonging to something bigger than you, than all of us -  the women who surround you in your journey are all facets of your own heart. And all of us will miss you.

A photo of Sara and Kyle's new home, that I shamelessly pinched
from her blog. That's the kind of friend I am.

Steady as you go, Skipper. Carry our love in the pockets of your heart.